Fangs and Claws [Closed]

[peritwinkle]

Caireann's heart ached at the thought that Cybelle had been harmed. The news of her being taken hostage had impacted her immensely, so she could not begin to fathom how much harm they had caused to Sebaston. The man loved his children too much, and Tywin knew it well enough. Likely expected more from him than tears and pain. It was how she knew he was, at least; so many years having grown by his side had helped her shape a solid opinion on him.

"I know him enough to say that is what he desires," Caireann agreed with Robb. "He believes that he would not leave his daughter in his hands for the sake of preserving the integrity of this Alliance." It would not be weakness on his part if he did what was expected of him, but they could not allow them to. "He cannot do what Tywin desires," although he was seeming to head that way.

"He has time to understand it," Tyrion said, "he is not a stupid man." He was loyal to Lenore and loved her, perhaps as much as he loved Cybelle and Meir. He could not condemn an entire side for the sake of one person, as heartless as that might sound to an outsider.

Caireann breathed out and propped her head up against the back of her hand. After a day of work, she was tired, but also disappointed with her inability to help. She blamed herself for Rickon's fate, for Alysanne, for Ramsay's. Cybelle's, she could not have changed, but it still irked her that there was nothing she could do for the moment being. Nothing they could do. They needed Dorne if they wanted to take King's Landing by storm and for the moment being, Dorne was wholly out of the equation, as they likely found themselves in a similar situation as Sebaston.

"I think... I think my father could speak to him in the morning." She did not imagine the man would want to be surrounded by the rest in such moments. "They have grown close to eachother... Haven't you, father?" She was hopeful that it would work. A friendly approach was better than urging him to act.

Tyrion raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. He was unsure if Sebaston would want to speak to him, but he could try if nobody else volunteered. Those that he was close to were at Casterly, so perhaps he was his best bet right then. All he could do was wait and indirectly agree.

~***~

A part of Jaime, deep inside his heart, made him want to slowly distance himself for Caireann. He feared that, given the option and opportunity at the right time, he would join his father's side to protect him and Cersei. Tommen. As much as he loved her, she was indeed not his daughter, but a part of his family that he still loved. The rest - it was different. If Lenore won, he would blame himself for not being able to protect his father from an inevitable death.

So, he did not pursue that conversation, but instead chose to think of something less depressing, as Lenore's future. As their future. He let out a chuckle at the mention of water dancing. "No, but I am quite sure I know my way with the sword." Better than before, but certainly not as good as he had been before almost losing his leg. He still limped when he was tired, to his opponent's advantage.

He rose then, a playful smirk on his lips, and took his place in front of her. "Care to see for yourself?" Only a playful spar, nothing intense. Like dancing, but just a tad bit more dangerous: him, with an aching leg; her, with two left hands and a dress that would stop her from making any quick movements.

Sebaston had trained with her. Perhaps even Ciaran. Adryan, likely not, as he did not like to lose. Jaime, on the other side, was not as competitive as the Lord of Casterly. If she agreed, then he would steel himself for nothing more than just a play, as children did when they were first shown wooden swords: in dresses, long slacks and hair pins, they pretended to fight as if they were knights and warriors, King Robert or Princess Nymeria.

Just like that, in his imagination, Lenore was nothing else but a girl when she played... Regardless of their game.

 

[Lucyfer]

Robb was hesitant to consider requesting that Tyrion speak to Sebaston when it was brought up. While it was true he was not a friend of Sebaston, he held no ill will…but he could suspect him weak in these moments, and without Lenore or others of the West around him, he might falter and cave to Tywin’s wishes. He wished then that a raven could fly fast enough to bring someone there, that a horse would be swift enough to give Sebaston the strength he needed in the form of a familiar face.

It seemed the one he was closest to there, however, was Tyrion.

And, perhaps, Olenna. Trade business, but was that not how the mercantile lord worked and thought? He saw how impacted Caireann was, though she barely knew Cybelle. She knew Tywin. And she cared for Sebaston – and no one could question all Sebaston had done for them up to that point. Was he not the one to try and get Dorne on their side?

Now he was trying to get the Iron Bank and Braavos. He was as tireless as Lenore herself, no wonder Lenore trusted him to be her second.

He reached for Caireann’s hand, to take hold of it, to offer his sympathies and his strength in a grasp. He felt for Sebaston as well. It certainly made him realize how foolish it was to be so sorrowful over mere weddings. There were still more important things going on, still a war going on, and the weddings had to happen to make sure that not as many people ended up as Cybelle. “Tyrion, if you are able…willing…,” he said. He couldn’t command him.

His eyes also flickered to Margaery, “Perhaps Lady Olenna would also be willing to speak with him?”

Margaery brightened a bit, “Yes, I think so,” she was good with quick and blunt words, words that could oftentimes come harshly enough to shock people out of their selfish pity parties. “I will see if she will, in the morning, of course.” When he shouldn’t be allowed to drink any more wine. Just tea.

He’d probably hate the tea but he’d drink it anyway if it was brought to him, reeking of roses.

“Thank you. We have to maintain…and Sebaston Farman has done much for all of us.” He was the boats that got them to Lannisport, and in that fight he lost a friend. He was the one who crashed into King’s Landing and saw Joffrey killed, and brought Tyrion here, though he lost another friend in Stannis.

Now he was risking losing his daughter, for trying to bring them the Dornish alliance.

~***~

Lenore didn’t really imagine that Jaime lost his skill. One of these days, he might even defeat Ser Adryan. That would be an interesting day for the bastard knight, and likely a day of celebration for Jaime, considering how Adryan was considered the best in their alliance. Not that Lenore would ever be fool enough to wager it all on single-combat.

When he rose, though, she canted her head, then laughed at his invitation to test if he did, in fact, still know his way around a sword. She didn’t see two there, but she rose with the invitation, “Are you so sure?” She teased him, “I did survive the Mountain – I’m sure I could manage you,” she jested. She didn’t kill the Mountain. She didn’t even really fight him…but survived was often good enough when it came to that one.

She would absolutely not be able to beat Jaime in any real fight with a sword. There was a reason she stuck to the bow and everyone knew it. She would be doomed even if she was in her armor and not a dress, but she wasn’t going to say that. No, she would play, enjoy the present. There was nothing on the agenda immediately, not until that evening when she wrote back to Sebaston to thank him for the horse, and wrote to Robb in regards to the wedding, when she knew more from Roose his plans.

No doubt this was going to delay her plans to attack, but no matter.

They would do so, soon enough.

Her eyes sought a sword, and she noted one in the grasses not far from the straw dummy. She moved to fetch that one for herself, even if it would probably not at all be suited for her. ‘Not that any sword is.’

 

[peritwinkle]

Tyrion did care for Sebaston. After all, he had been the one to protect him after Stannis's attack on King's Landing, the one to bring him back to his daughter and brother. He deeply felt for him and for Cybelle; for Oberyn as well, who had lost a brother. The wedding issue seemed childish now that all of them suffered individually for something wholly different. Tywin no longer remained silent, and there was nothing that they could do to stop him then.

"I will speak to him," he nodded to Robb before reching out to fill his goblet with wine. He saw the way he held Caireann's hand, how the girl curled up closer to him in fear. As strong as one might strive to be, she was still a child, who had grown to care for Sebaston and for Cybelle alike, even if they had not spent much time together.

"I know that it will be well," Caireann promised, shifting her gaze to Margaery. "Lady Olenna has the gift of speech, just like my father. If they cannot convince and embitter Lord Sebaston, then I do not know who would." For one had to be strong and confident in such matters, when his family was involved in the game of thrones.

Without a doubt, the sensation was worse than her nightmares. Than any kind of pain that she had ever felt. She was thankful that the Gods had been merciful enough to erase her mother's death from her memory, otherwise she would have suffered to that day, recalling the moment. Still, it was there like an echo and it haunted her dreams almost every night. She could not imagine what Sebaston would dream when he closed his eyes, if he even managed to fall asleep.

"It is the least he deserves," Catelyn agreed with them. Even if she was not particularly close to him, she acknowledged and was grateful for what Sebaston had done for all of them. Without his fleet, without Dorne... They might not be able to hold the war against Tywin. Not when it came to attacking, for they might endure a siege or an attack on their own.

He was more valuable to them that Cybelle was to him... As hard as it was for a mother to say so.

~***~

Jaime let out a low trill of laughter at Lenore's confidence, but he did not dare to put her down. His sword would do the job for him. "I will go easy on you," he promised and turned around to find his sword. Two others were on display for her to choose from, all of the same weight and balance as his. It was often that he broke his in anger, bent or chipped them. They were only a bit sharper than normal sparring swords, yet even so, not enough so that they could kill eachother with them.

However, Lenore went to pick the one that he had wielded earlier. He shook his head with a grumble and grabbed one of the others propped against the dummy stand, weighed it even if he knew it felt the same, then turned back to face his fearsome opponent.

"I assume you know the basics," he said then, "how to adjust your stance, when to strike, if you are the one to strike first." In a spar, it mattered; in real battles, everything went with a flow, just like a dance, where he knew exactly when to hit and when to dodge, in order to avoid being hit.

If he were water dancing, he would have straightened himself and moved one hand behind his back to begin with, but then, such things did not matter. He did not expect Lenore fought like a brute either, as Adryan did, never stopping before he struck his target down and finished it. On the other hand, if she was too slow or too gentle, he would simply have to end the fight as a victor, then explain the mistakes she had made... If only to prove he was better.

"I will allow you to begin." Even when tired, he was better than her. It was of course to her advantage and he doubted she would refuse the offer.

 

[Lucyfer]

Robb was glad that Tyrion would speak to Sebaston, and Olenna as well. He considered writing to Lenore himself, but decided to only do so on this matter if it did seem that he would leave. He wanted to believe that Sebaston wouldn't, but those of the West often surprised him. He wanted to believe in his loyalty, but such things became difficult with family involved. He would persevere in the face of threats...or at least he hoped he would. He hadn't truly been in that position. Sansa was not threatened in any letters, though he knew now she had been harmed.

Caireann remained positive, thankfully. "Olenna will know what to say...." hopefully. Margaery wanted to encourage the positivity in the face of such hardship.

Robb have a firm nod. "Then tomorrow, with Sebaston," when he was better, "We will arrange to go to Casterly Rock to discuss leaving for the weddings. We must make sure all parties are aware of who is staying and we must leave an adequate defense for Casterly Rock and Lannisport."

Margaery bit her lip on expressing any excitement for the weddings. She enjoyed celebrations, even hosted by Walder Frey. Now was not the time, and she may even be left behind, though she doubted it. She was no genius strategist or warrior. The defense could spare her. It was Loras that would be missed and their armies, already lessened with the Mountain's excursion. "Of course, it would be imprudent to discuss that without him."

Though none were happy of it, she added, "It is still good that we have this arrangement... and perhaps while we are there, we can talk to Lord Frey about contributing soldiers. While Dorne regroups, his assistance on the field would be good. A way for his house to finally earn some prestige!" She considered, "If he could be talked into it...I know we have the support of the Riverlands."

Yet the truth was that their presence on the field was almost as good as if they weren't there at all. Robb had them stay in the Riverlands.

Robb grimaced at the thought. "He'll demand more for help."

~***~

Lenore knew she was going to lose, so she didn't allow her expectations to humor victory, even if she did disarm Jaime by taking his sword. He just got another easily enough. She tested the weight and still found it heavier than she would prefer, especially for one hand, but nonetheless, she did shift into the stance. The stance was never the issue. Footwork wasn't. The issue was indeed in the hands and following movement.

"Basics, yes," she agreed once in the stance. Basics didn't mean anything, but she knew them.

The dress was not helping her. She was going to trip on it, she knew, no matter how much she told herself it was like regular dancing. At least Jaime allowed her the lead, and she gave him a smile, "You're too kind, Ser."

Breathe in. Relax.

She didn't sprint or lunge, but did approach with the blade up, eyeing his own movements as she came into striking distance. She didn't linger in hesitation or question then. She wasn't meant to be a brute, and Jaime would be able to read her strike, but even so she had to open. She would attempt to turn a thrust of the blade at his heart to a feint - not let it get quite close enough to glance his blade, but the speed and gesture was done to make one think the goal was just that. To strike the heart and move him to defend.

Instead the blade would be pulled back as the body turned to step and spin around the opponent, and have the blade rest at the opponent's neck, while the dancer would stand behind.

It all rested on the assumption that the feint worked.

 

[peritwinkle]

It was never bad to seek the good in a bad situation. Caireann wanted to believe that the three marriages with Lord Frey's children would give them an advantage on the long run. Even if Lady Catelyn was not too happy for her son, Rickon, it was still not as bad as it would have been, had Sansa been betrothed instead. He would at least likely stay at Winterfell, with the rest of his family, and even if his lady proved to be as vile as her father, they would all work to turn her into a true Northern woman that young Rickon would grow to love.

With everything settled, she would allow them all to eat, trying to avoid sparking conversations that inspired negativity. At least for Her family's sake, she wanted to inspire strength, even if the news had impacted her immensely. Of course, with time, they would find the power to move on, in spite of the misfortune, but for then, they could not afford to let their guards down.

That evening, as soon as she returned to her room, Caireann would write a letter to Dorne to express her mutual sorrow and encourage them to regroup. She knew that Sebaston would not leave them, or at least that was what she wished to believe, but she did not mention Cybelle, just to make sure that they would not be daunted by their odds.

She doubted that Robb would not oppose her writing the letter, as the Queen of the North. Knowing Lenore also endeared Cybelle, depending on whether Casterly was to be informed of it or not, she might even write a letter to her, similar to the one written to Dorne. Even miles apart, they all ought to be connected one way or another.

It was their only hope to nurture faith.

~***~

It was inciting to watch Lenore transition from her playful stance to a more focused one, as she eyed his movements and tried to plan her own. Yet to Jaime, it was easy to read each one of them. The mistake of a begginer: he knew she would try a trick to disarm him from the beginning, impress him with a quick motion slipped in as an element of surprise.

And indeed, her first thought was to aim for his throat by tricking him into thinking the blow was headed for his chest. Jaime moved back quickly and, lowering his arm as if he were retreating, he used her momentum to aim and 'slice' through her middle before she got the chance to get close enough to his throat. Small as he was, his height and the length of his arm gave him an advantage. It was why not many women fought battles, and certainly not short ones either.

He knew many women who would ardently disagree with him, but women were not made to fight.

"Good, but not good enough," he smirked, shaking his hand to warm up his wrist. "It is all in the eyes. Next time do not look where you are actually intending to aim." Another mistake that he would have expected her to make. It reminded him of the young boys who were forced into battle without training: a sentence to death. It was not only brute force that was required, but skill as well, and that skill was earnt from analysing, observing.

It was one thing to mix poisons and yet another to wield a sword.

This once, it was him who jumped forward. He kept his movements relatively slow, to give her time to understand what he was about to do, before he would try to distract her with a long swing above her head. If she instinctively lifted her own blade to parry it, he would bend to avoid it and cut the back of her knee easily enough. It was the easiest thing one could do; in the frenzy of an actual fight, most did not care to think before they acted. Their instincts took over them.

 

[Lucyfer]

Morning came, the sea lapping at the shore, and Sebaston stood in his room. He hadn’t slept, of course, but none could blame him. He wracked his mind for any way out of the situation he was in, for anything he could extend to Lenore, or to Tywin, but there was nothing between. He knew that. The Lions may be Red and Gold, but they were also Black and White on many things.

Lenore’s morality when it came to the Lannister’s didn’t waver.

Tywin did not make idle threats.

In the end, there was only one thing to do. As the sun rose and painted his beloved sea, he said a silent farewell to Cybelle, and burned the letter. He could still hear it crackling as he leaned on the wall and stared out at the day. ‘I know.’

He had known when Lenore spoke to him, upon returning. If he did not answer, Tywin could not be certain he ever got the letter. It was the only way he could possibly save her. Silence. Tywin would have to decide whether or not he did as he threatened, or wait. If Sebaston answered, he knew he would receive one of those pieces of his daughter immediately after, and he would not do that.

He would be silent. ‘I accepted before I may be the last. Or Meir.’ Anyone. That was the game they were playing when they went against Tywin – they risked obliteration. He’d already chosen his side. If he was obliterated…so be it.

~***~

Robb was up early, and he left Caireann with the promise he would return shortly – he wanted to make sure to clear a room for the council, and let it be known it would be a bit late that morning, to allow Tyrion and Olenna to speak with Sebaston. The Tyrells shouldn’t protest it; after all, they were the morning people.

Once that was seen to, he did grab a bit of breakfast for himself and for Caireann. He still considered it their tradition, of sorts. It was not a bad tradition at all, and he returned to the room and smiled as he set the tray down upon the table, before he addressed Caireann. There weren’t pancakes, but there was toast with flavorful jams.

“We will be holding a council today, to talk of who might stay in Lannisport before we leave to go to Casterly and learn defenses there,” they would then return to sail out from Lannisport, rather than move along the land, to go to the Riverlands and then cross to the Twins. “You will need to see how these things go, and since this one should not be all that problematic,” so long as Sebaston didn’t go off the deep-end, “I thought I would extend an invitation to you, to see how it is, and what the environment is like.”

He offered, and added, “And if Lenore is all right with it at Casterly, I would have you see the council there, as well.”

She may not be, he was honestly not sure at all how it would go over. She remained an enigma in regards to Caireann and where she thought Caireann stood with them.

~***~

‘How do you target without looking?’ It was an archer’s mindset, a ranged fighter, that still lived in Lenore. Sebaston and Ciaran had told her the same thing, as well, but she couldn’t help it. You had to aim at what you wanted to strike. How did they not?

Likely memorization. Practice. She wasn’t there yet. The trick failed, though she wasn’t surprised. He wouldn’t be the ‘Kingslayer’ if he fell prey to a simple trick, wouldn’t stand against Adryan if she could win so easily.

He may have moved slow, and Lenore was able to read the strike from above, but that wasn’t enough to help her. She did move as he hoped, lifting up to parry, but the blade never descended upon it. Instead, Jaime shifted his target in time, and she saw the move of his arm, his body. She understood, and tried to act to avoid, to step forward so she would be out of range, but she was too hasty, and the hem of her dress was doing her no favors.

Her foot stepped on it, causing her to pause a moment longer, before the blade cut, and the force of it with her balance already messed up by the hem, caused her to fall forward. She caught herself with her hands, sword remaining in her grip. She didn’t curse; she was sore with Ciaran and Sebaston, but with them, it was serious.

She just laughed off the error then. “This is why I stick to bows…I can use them in a dress.”

 

[peritwinkle]

'Sebaston, I-'

'Lord Farman...'

'How are you?'

Tyrion's steps were loud against the stone that paved the floor in the silence of the early morning. He was an early riser when he did not drink, and he assumed that the Lord of the Fair Isles had not slept well enough that night to wish to rest for longer. It was expected, although he feared what he would look like after a night of having thought of his daughter.

As he paced towards his room, he struggled to think of a way to dress his intentions. He had lived through a similar circumstance and understood him. The pain was there, throbbing, and it felt as if alcohol was the only way to alleviate at least some of it. The first month after Caireann's departure with Jaime felt like a dream, still unreal, still tinged with the smell of alcohol and sweat from his restless nights of chugging bottle after bottle of wine.

That morning, however, Tyrion thought to bring along a kettle of tea and two cups. He was not a fan of chamomile, or of tea in general, but he would drink it to encourage Sebaston to do so as well. As soon as he arrived before his door, he gestured for the guard he found outside to knock for him. "The imp, m'Lord," he said with confusion, to which Tyrion scoffed.

"Lord Tyrion Lannister," he corrected and the guard quickly nodded.

"M'Lord." He would open the door if allowed, and Tyrion would dare to step inside, holding up the tray of tea almost like a shield. He expected his first reaction would be to throw the letter at him, a pillow or a piece if paper. Understandable. As long as the man did not resume to unleashing his wrath upon him, then he would endure his... momentary discomfort.

~***~

Caireann was up as early as the sun that morning, with the worries of the day weighing down on her. She had waited for Robb to rise as well, quiet as she did, making sure not to disturb him. He was endearing when he slept, just like a child, peaceful and quiet, although she knew that his dreams were not truly dreams. No, he always woke up as Grey Wind, roaming the proximity of the castle and through him, checking on the drills and the guards posted outside the gates and doors.

When he did wake up and promised to return, she took advantage of the time alone to nap for a few moments. She had the trust that he could manage what she was not there for, and as soon as he return he did rise, more at the dulcet smell of freshly toasted bread and flavoured jam than his steps in the corridor outside their room.

He started speaking as soon as he return and, for a brief second, Caireann expected news of Lord Sebaston. She was relieved, however, that they were of their future movements to the Riverlands and they came as good news for her side. It sounded like she would be able to speak in the council that would decide who remained and who accompanied them, which was more than enough to ask for from someone in her position.

The fact that she would be brought into the council at Casterly, however, surprised her more than anything.

"Would I truly be allowed to have a voice in the council?" she said, her eyes lighting up with hole. "Given Lady Reyne approves, of course... It would be an honour, Robb. It would make me very happy." That council would not be as important as others, so she did not see the issue in being present, if only to get the feel of it all. Soon enough, she would become Robb's voice when he was absent. She had to learn how to do it, even if she had just freshly been named Queen in the North.

Glowing with enthusiasm, she threw her arms around him and pressed her lips to his temple. It was the most he could do for her, and more than appreciated from her part. She felt just like a child, whose father had allowed him to go play after a long day of work. "I will not dissapoint you," she smiled against his cheek. "You will see what your Queen is made of."

~***~

Lenore was easy to read when it came to fighting. She had just begun training and Jaime could not blame her. He had had years of experience before him, whilst she was only learning. It was not fair for her to fight against an opponent such as himself, but better than Adryan all the same, or than one whose skill was below her. She would only pick up mistakes from them.

Everything happened quickly after his blow. Lenore fell, likely tripping on her dress, while Jaime moved back quickly enough so as to avoid her momentum. Their blades were not sharp, but they could easily pop out an eye if they did not pay attention to their tips. He had sharpened the edges with a rock only to make it easier for him to cut through the dummy.

"And what if your bow breaks, eh?" Jaime teased, bending to give her his hand. "What if you run out of arrows when the enemy comes running for you? Everyone needs to learn how to wield at least one melee weapon, and if that is a sword, all the better." They were lighter than warhammers, deadlier than daggers. With the latter, one would have to get dangerously close. He did not even want to think of Lenore throwing herself into the pit of lions with a small pocket knife.

Once she was up, he would draw closer to help brush away the dirt from her sleeves for a moment, before realising that they were still not alone. There was nobody around them in a vast range, but they could not risk being too close. Likely, Bolton's twins already question their captor-captive relatonship as it was.

"Do you want to go again?" he said then, brushing a hand through his hair, "Or is it enough for today?" He was tired, but she likely needed a bed more than he did. "Do not dare to tell me this has exhausted you. I know very well what you are made of," even if he did not possess that knowledge from fighting.

 

[Lucyfer]

Sebaston wasn't surprised to have visitors that morning. He was surprised it was Tyrion, if only because it wasn't who he would send, but he wouldn't turn him away. He would have preferred Lenore but she was too far away. The calm trait in her didn't come from the Reynes, no matter their words. It was the Farman in her that let her weather the storms. "Lord Tyrion," he corrected the guard as well, before turning from the window. He didn't leave his post along the wall to greet Tyrion as he was allowed in. He offered his greeting in a nod that shifted to a wry smile as he saw the defensive placement of the tray.

Tea.

He was expecting tea. And Olenna. Perhaps she would come later.

"I see you drew the short straw." He commented, motioning Tyrion towards the table and chairs. He might move for a cup of tea if it was absolutely necessary. "Don't worry. I'm not a lion, I don't bite." He had drunk his fury, felt the dull thud of the hangover, and now imagined clarity on the waves.

He wanted to go home.

He could not go home. "I never hated anyone until this morning." When it sunk in as the waves told him farewell. "I'd day I'm sorry, but I'm sure you understand." Tyrion had a daughter. Tyrion lived with Tywin, as well. So, Sebaston wasn't sorry that he was joining Lenore's club in actively hating Tywin.

~***~

Robb's news was met with enthusiasm. He had a feeling it would be taken so well. These matters likely wouldn't take much arguing about, since some clearly wouldn't be going to the wedding. Lenore, for sure. Robb would prefer Sebaston remained. He would need some of his ships but the majority of his forces could stay. Tywin didn't really have a navy to speak of, but that didn't mean they should show a weak point in what was their strength.

"Yes, Caireann. You should start to understand how these matters work." He answered, confirming his wish for her to be there was true.

She came to him then, and as she kissed his temple, he wrapped his arms around her back. He managed not to chuckle at her eagerness. "I look forward to it." And he did, even if she faltered, she would learn, as she was doing now. He lifted one hand from her back to her chin. "I know you won't disappoint me."

He wouldn't let her speak to agree or disagree. He placed his lips to hers firmly and kissed her, wishing to seal his own belief and confidence in her, in the act, as his fingers stroked down her jaw and along her neck. When they rested upon her shoulder, he pulled back, and relaxed his grip on the small of her back. "You will need your wits about you if Sebaston or Olenna are in a foul mood. They can be rather... cutting."

Lenore would be worse, if only for Caireann's affection for the woman, but that was some days away. "We do a pre-discussion if that will help." He offered as well, though didn't care if such was forsaken. He wasn't worried about it.

~***~

What if, what if - Jaime, Sebaston, and Ciaran spoke as if she had never been in those situations, and she gave the man an arrogant smirk as he said such was why she should learn the blade. "I haven't needed it yet with all the other dead archers on the field." Arrows and bows aplenty. And a horse that kicked on command, was useful, though she didn't have that any longer.

Still she let herself be helped up, and would have dusted herself off on her, but Jaime started. Certainly not the norm. Certainly something she should stop, but she didn't before he realized, too, the error. No matter how innocent the action itself was, there was an inherent risk to it. Even you their sparring, there was a risk.

He pulled back, and Lenore finished as he spoke. Another round. She may be tired from the ride back, but hardly exhausted. His words wouldn't have let her turn away anyways. Pride, even in play. Perhaps, especially. "I'm not yet so... if nothing else I could tire you out and win." Joked. "Just give me a moment. This dress isn't working... if we're going to continue." She thrust the sword into the ground so it stayed upright for her.

She could go all the way back to her room, but that would take too long, and there was usually spare armor and clothes around. Impromptu spars happened. The armor of the dead didn't go to waste when one wanted to keep their actual combat armor in good shape. So, Lenore only crossed closer to the barracks near the field, grateful for the hour and most being at dinner or asleep after their travels, and pulled together clothe and leather from the extras that would fit well enough. At least cover without slipping - thank the gods most in the West were lean fighters.

"I'll be right back." Before she would slip into one of the nearby washrooms and remove the dress in favor of the slacks. There weren't spare shoes, but those didn't bother her much. She just pulled the hair back into a ponytail when done ans stepped back out, dress under her arm and set aside as she went back to retrieve her sword.

 

[peritwinkle]

Sebaston Farman looked far better than Tyrion would have expected. The imp lord stepped inside, with the tray of tea defensively lifted to cover his scarred face, as the guard silently closed the door behind him. He was at least happy to see that the man talked, or hear rather, although the pain in his voice was evident. It was there, stinging, and although he had barely spoken in his days waiting for news about Caireann, he assumed that his own had sounded the same, if not worse.

Tyrion set the tray down on the table by the window and took a seat, not waiting for a polite invitation. "When I was in your position, I used to drown my sorrows with wine," he confessed the obvious. "Momentarily, it did make me feel better, but I noticed that after a couple of days of drinking, I had begun to lose my senses... I was almost delirious, raving about like a madman." He remembered it, or at least remembered that it had happened. That had not been a dream.

With movements more gentle than what he was used to, he poured tea into both cups and pushed one towards Sebaston. "It is good to hate. Do not blame yourself for it. I do it every day and it only reminds me that I am still human." It kept him sane, even in those moments when he was too intoxicated to think. "It makes me think that I have a purpose," even if that purpose was only to hate.

Of course, he had overcome that stage, but it did not mean he was not afraid. He had never anticipated Caireann being taken away from him, while Sebaston had actively involved his daughter in the war, aware of the consequences that might bring. Now that his seashell was the Queen in the North, the enemy's swords were pointed towards her as well, and what more could he do than hope he would be there to stop them if they dared to strike, even with his own heart?

"If there is something I've learnt from drinking, it is that you have to hydrate yourself after a long night. Drink, Sebaston. You will feel better." He knew tea would not stop his daughter from being hurt. It would not stop Tywin from getting what he wanted, but at least it would cut Sebaston's chances to make a rushed decision.

He noted the absence of the letter, "What have you done with it?" No need to mention what that 'it' was. He hoped he had no intentions to send a reply.

~***~

The kiss was met with warmth and passion, just as it was intended. Caireann melted into it, allowing a touch of submissiveness to slip in. With him, she could be soft as she had been before. It was something she could afford when others were not looking. In his arms, it was as if the whole world vanished; rather, Robb was his world, as long as he did not mind her moment of puerility.

"Don't worry about me, I always have my wits about," she whispered against his lips, "although I have to say... Not when you are so close to me." She leaned up again to pull him into another kiss, this once more fiery, ardent, then playfully caught his bottom lip between her teeth and tugged at it. "This is not the best time to discuss politics."

The Queen in the North was sick of it all, but not him. Her days had been full, too full to allow for times like those. It felt as if he no longer desired her, while her lust for him grew stronger and stronger every day. She enjoyed witnessing his authority and competence. Power. While she, from behind him, always had a word to say in supporting him. Those moments of freedom were the only payment that she ever required from him, even if they were so rare compared to what she had been used to.

So, she lifted herself up on his lap and, wrapping her legs around his middle, she pressed her forehead to his. "You are so serious all the time," she scolded playfully. "We have done so much in this room and yet all you think about is your councils." Of course, she never truly meant it. They were merely words to distract him, even if only briefly; the most that he could do to congratulate her for her efforts.

~***~

Jaime was both happy and worried to hear that Lenore was not exhausted yet. A part of him would have hoped she would offer to go inside and enjoy dinner together, which they had not done in a long time. The other, of course, was eager to humour her thirst for victory, even if both of them knew she would not win. Not against him. Not while wearing a dress.

Thankfully, she had the good idea to change herself into more appropriate clothing; his, on the other side, was nothing too special, but at least his pair of leather slacks allowed for easy movement while at the same time protected his crotch. One could never be too careful when it came to Lenore Reyne.

"You look better with you hair pulled back," Jaime teased, the innuendo there but almost too subtle. He grabbed his sword from where he had thrown it and straightened his back, ready for another round. "This time, I want you to forget everything you have been taught, because whoever taught you did not do his job well." Being a beginner was not a good enough excuse to make such mistakes of tact. He knew she was far better than that.

Then, without a warning, he darted forward.

His movements were short, yet predictable: he aimed for her head to begin and would allow her to parry it. The next blow, to her hip, would come from above, making sure that he protected his head with his raised elbow. Each time he shifted in motion, he glanced over to her, making sure that he grasped the trick and he could move on. While never being too aggressive, he would not let his guard down, hoping that the rush and frenzy of a moment would spark her instincts ablaze.

 

[Lucyfer]

Tyrion had spent days binging on alcohol, but Sebaston would only have the one. He knew he had to gather himself. Perhaps he was better than Lenore; he allowed himself a moment to feel, at least. To indulge his anger and his fury, to feel the wracking pain of the sorrow, and to drown it as a mortal had to…a human. That was what he was, no matter. Lenore was the only Ghost among them. ‘The Farmans yet live.’ In him. In Meir, and in his wife. In Jeyne, in a way, though all of her children were Cliftons.

In Lenore.

Tyrion spoke of his own trials with the self-depreciating humor only he could have, after years of being the butt of many jokes. ‘Hate. Love. These aren’t the markers of humans.’ Reason was. Animals hated, and animals loved, none could tell Sebaston otherwise. Reason was what separated them. How they dealt with those emotions, and Sebaston intended to deal with his hatred as rationally as he could.

Deal with his love that way, as well.

He chuckled though, as tea was offered as hydration. He needed that for more reasons than his drinking habits, and so he did move to take one glass, and to bring it to his lips and sip. The flavor was ignored, hardly tasted at that time, but the heat of it was appreciated.

Before he could answer the imp, there was another call from the door. “Lord Farman, er…Lady Olenna is here, too.”

“Let her in,” Sebaston sighed, and went back to his wall, not sitting. Olenna was let in, and she saw Tyrion there, and smirked a bit.

“Margaery failed to mention the tea would already be here,” she said, carrying her own tray and ornate set of tea, with only two cups as well. No matter, she moved to place it on the table, and at least pour herself a cup. “I trust I haven’t missed anything just yet?”

“No, not at all,” Sebaston said, “Only my confession of hatred for Tywin, and Tyrion asking what I did with the letter.” He gestured to the crackling fire. “I burned it. It’s no good to me.” Responding would do nothing good. Keeping it did him no good.

“Wise,” Olenna commended softly. “What was the old lion’s threat?”

“That if I continued to fight, he would send pieces of Cybelle to me, until I backed out of the fight. I imagine he sent a similar letter to Dorne.” Sebaston sipped the tea, his gaze growing distant then, the fire leaving those turquoise orbs as he considered if Dorne would hate him for asking them to join him.

~***~

Caireann had no interest in politics, even if she was eager to join the council. She forced Robb to sit with her ardent kisses, not letting him pull away, and pulled herself onto his lap in the process. He didn’t protest it at all, for even he had felt the weight of change. Since Caireann began to go out and learn more, their schedules did not line up as well any longer, and they had not shared a moment of intimacy as fervent as this one promised to be.

He let his hands move down to her hips, and he smiled at her words. He did not answer them as his instinct was. ‘We are at war.’

How could he think of aught else, when Cybelle suffered in a cell, and Lenore was taking the offensive, no longer playing the defense? The pace of the war seemed to finally be ramping up, now that Tywin had moved, and so it did consume him – he had to be ahead.

Caireann did not want to hear that in the moment, though. It would only kill the mood. “You’re right, my queen,” he admitted, his head pressed to hers by the forehead, the pressure enough as he let his fingers deepen their press against the clothe of her dress, over her hips, “I have been consumed and neglectful of you. However can I make it up to you?” He teased, not another word of politics passing his mouth as awaited her answer.

~***~

Lenore didn’t grasp the innuendo immediately, and arched an eyebrow, before the realization struck her and she shook her head, eyes rolling a bit as she understood. She ignored the burn of her flesh, the want she had been feeling since her return. Perhaps sparring was an excuse to stay in his presence longer, but she wasn’t going to show her hand so easily. She took her stance, but Jaime told her to forget it all.

She didn’t quite have time to question it, nor truly move out of the stance, but at least she was able to fall back a step and parry the blow when he lunged.

Again, and again, Jaime rained down blows, but she knew he was holding back even as she fought to keep up and follow them, parry, or move. Frustration was rising just beneath the surface, though, with each jarring blow that struck and shook her hand. ‘This isn’t…working….’

It was in that irritation that an instinct did flash, perhaps a poor one considering her strength, but when their blades collided as she parried, her other hand gripped the hilt of the sword. Rather than let him simply pull away, she pushed back against his blade, as if to throw the sword off and make an opening. She hardly had the strength, perhaps would only have surprise as an advantage. The stance shifted, no longer the light one of a water dancer. It wasn’t any proper stance, in truth, just what Lenore fell into to try and grasp at strength, rather than agility, because parrying and dodging wasn’t getting her an opening with Jaime.

 

[peritwinkle]

Tyrion did not get the answer he required, as another guest of Sebaston's disturbed their momentary peace. It was Olenna this once, and strangely enough, that ignorant guard recognised the woman from the hundreds within the walls of Stafford's castle. She was not an unpleasant sight; Tyrion was at least happy that he had someone else to support him in stiffening Sebaston if his effort lead them to no conclusion.

It appeared that he had not been the first to think of tea, as she had brought some herself, yet it was better than having to share his cup with the old lady. Sebaston did not take a seat, but did agree to wet his throat with some of the warm liquid, in hopes that it would enlighten his already muddled mind.

The fact that he had burnt the letter was at least a sign he had started it with the right foot ahead. "It will at least delay the flow of things," Tyrion agreed, although he would not bet it. Tywin was not stupid. He could just as easily send a finger of the poor girl's with a messenger and still make sure that Sebaston got the idea.

"I... I do not want to address the black sheep in the room, but considering your reaction, Sebaston, I think it would be prudent to send a letter to Dorne to express our encouragement and support." He was sure that they suffered after losing Doran and witnessing the other brother being tortured under Tywin's foot. "Unless someone already has, which should have happened, dare I say." The sooned the better.

Of course, it might not help much, but silence would not bring them anywhere if they wished to maintain a good relationship with the South. Dorne was a valuable ally which they could not afford to lose. Not while Tywin was at their doorstep, applying pressure on their already broken bones.

~***~

There was a vague hint of hesitation that Caireann sensed in Robb's movements. He likely wanted to protest their closeness, to remind her that they were pressured by time, yet she was glad when he did not. His playful comment was enough to spark her lust even more, of which had accumulated over the course of the days they had spent so close, and yet so far away from eachother.

She ran a finger over his chest, slow and gentle, stopping right as his middle. Then, she straightened herself and lowered back, until she was lying down on the featherbed, yet with her legs still on either side of his torso. A smirk was playing on her lips, inviting, but not allowing him to act yet. She was still to give him the orders that he would be forced to obey, otherwise he would only end up with an upset Queen and a lump of guilt in his heart.

"Remember the morning before our wedding day?" Caireann whispered flirtatiously. "Or the one after the night beneath the weirwood tree..." Both, to her, were memories of gold, no matter how different. She recalled them vividly, missed the sensations that the moment had brought. "It all used to be so simple... we were so simple. Gentle. Innocent."

It was no longer what she wanted of him. She had grown before his eyes, so their habits had to change, or at least break for a moment's frenzy. They did not have long until the day started; it was early, but the castle awakened with the sun. In spite of her apparent languor, her eyes were fiery, alive. She was demanding more not only through words, but through her longing gaze, as well.

So the Queen would let her King decide whatever he found fit for a change.

~***~

For a moment, Jaime was convinced that Lenore would fret and fail. Step back. Anything but try to parry and fight back. He was not striking her with the same force that he would a real opponent, but the stress was there, as intended. He wanted to make her feel like it was a real fight, if only to see how she would react, were she put face to face with a real warrior, whom she would not be able to defeat with the force of a poor bow.

Yet she was quick to think, and before he could try to strike for the back of her legs again and hook her down, she grabbed his sword from underneath the guard, trying to disarm him. In the fatigue of the moment, Jaime was not able to immediately read her, so as soon as she drew close enough he lunged back, making it only easier for her to pull the sword out of his hand by only using the weight of his body and his momentum. He almost landed on his bottom, but only staggered instead as he tried to analyse what had happened.

"That was... some improvement," he agreed, shaking his wrists. "I would not have imagined you were brave enough to get so close to the lion's teeth." His eyes searched for his sword, although something was telling him she was not going to give up her trophy so easily. "But do not think that this will work from now on, I was just tired..."

'And distracted by your hair, but if I said that, you would slap me.'

He let out a low chuckle, his throat vibrating in a deep roar. Had he not known better, he would have thought he had seen fear in her eyes, even if for the blink of a second. "I bet you are proud of yourself. But I am done for today." If she had defeated him with such a petty trick, it was a sign he needed a break. How much time had it been anyway? Perhaps two hours, or even more. Then sun had almost completely set, and his stomach was threatening him with violent grumbles.

 

[Lucyfer]

Sebaston nodded, “In theory,” in theory, it would delay things. Reality was yet to be seen. He knew an answer that told Tywin to fuck himself would be rewarded with a limb of his daughter, so at least he didn’t make that choice, as tempting as it had been. If he was lucky, he might get to tell Tywin that personally.

Likely, he would not be so lucky. Lenore had already accepted that the odds of ever speaking to Tywin were nil. He’d be slain on the field, and likely not by one of her arrows. Sebaston had thought she would be more upset by the idea, but now he understood.

Hatred was not the same as a lust for revenge. Sebaston knew that. He knew how to stoop low for revenge, but hatred…hatred was new altogether. He desired only to see it quenched, and it would only be quenched with Tywin’s death.

Letters were mentioned. “I haven’t. I believe Lenore has,” he should likely write something of his own, they were right. He got Dorne into this mess and he felt responsible. Who would he address it to, though? Arianna would technically lead, but…Ellaria…, ‘Lenore would right to Arianna. You can write to Ellaria.’ Power wouldn’t remain stable in Arianna’s hands.

With luck, she’d heed Ellaria, and Ellaria, her. Perhaps he could urge her to do so. “I can send a follow up to Ellaria Sand. I doubt she has been given much consideration in the formal letters.”

Olenna smirked a bit at that. “I daresay she has,” but Olenna understood. Oberyn may have many lovers, but his love was for Ellaria. Even she knew of the woman. “So it seems all our worry over you becoming a turncoat was for nothing.”

He glanced over to her. “You worried?”

“Me? No,” a wry smile, “but you should have heard how Margaery put it, and all the wringing of her hands.” Olenna answered him. “She was rather fond of Cybelle.” Perhaps more than fond, though she had not gotten to know the girl long. Margaery chased power, of course, but her heart had longings besides, and the way Cybelle had pulled her for a dance was hardly forgotten.

Not to mention Cybelle was of a powerful family.

Sebaston let his lips curl in a half-smile, but it faltered. His gaze shifted out. “I suppose with these weddings coming up now, we won’t be able to apply pressure of our own.”

“The attacks on Banefort and the Ashemark?” Olenna clarified. “No,” she agreed. “Not until after.”

“I’m starting to hate weddings, too.” He jested, but only half-jokingly.

~***~

Caireann offered Robb no answer. Her finger traced a path down his chest, and he enjoyed the heat of its trail, and the way that heat seemed to pulse out from the path, warming him fully. Then, she leaned back, but kept her legs wrapped around his middle. He observed, arching an eyebrow at the gesture, but not moving. She hadn’t told him anything.

Even when she spoke, she did not tell him anything, only asked him to remember fevered moments. Before he dragged her into the politics of it all, and asked more of her. When, indeed, it was ‘simple’, but hardly innocent. Despite her reminiscience, she didn’t seem to want to go back to that.

Her eyes at least denied such a want, and before that burning gaze, he lifted his shirt over his head, and tossed it aside. It was likely good that neither of them had gotten fully ready to see the day and the council just yet. With the shirt removed, he leaned forward, a hand finding a place alongside her head as the other moved to firmly push one of her legs down and off of his waist.

He let her hazel orbs feed the hunger in his blue ones as he stole a deep and quick kiss from her lips, the pressure over her increasing as he let his weight shift more onto the hand alongside her head. The other had slipped under the skirt of her dress and found the silken flesh of her thigh, which his fingers dug into, applying the same pressure of the kiss, and loosening when he broke again.

“You’re right…some things have changed,” he agreed, and he would lean back, as if to move away, but he wouldn’t fully do so. His hand left its place along her head, and took her arm to pull her back up with him.

A consciously slow gesture as the hand at her thigh would roam up, moving the skirt higher with it, as she would be pulled straight again, and lifted a bit higher, so his hand would have easier access to the rounded flesh. He held her gaze, “It’s time for you to be on your hands and knees for me, my queen.” He would suggest in a low voice. It ought to be obvious now why she couldn’t remain on her back.

~***~

Lenore did not anticipate that she would have such luck in disarming Jaime. She had figured she would be disarmed long before him, since her wrist was already complaining from each parry. Instead, she saw Jaime’s blade leave his hand, and at first she wasn’t sure how to react. There was a moment’s freeze in the shock, before her leg shot out and stepped on the sword. She pulled it back quickly so it would be behind her, and pointed the blade at Jaime’s chest, a teasing smile on her lips as he tried to get his own bearings.

“I understand, Ser…I did say I would tire you out,” and Lenore did. She hadn’t even thought it would work once, but to see that it had? Ah, that was beautiful. She’d keep that memory.

“You should know by now I’m not really afraid of teeth.” She added, before she stepped aside and picked up his blade, not letting him have it so easily. “I’ll take this victory though.” Leave on a high note, “And I won’t tell anyone.” He wouldn’t live it down no matter his exhaustion. Certainly not from Gerald, if he were to know that Jaime lost to Lenore, who couldn’t even fight with a sword.

Besides, she liked that chuckle of his, and didn’t want to sour his mood with any more practice. Her own wrist didn’t want it, either. She set the swords back in their place, “Let me get changed again and we’ll go back to the Rock.” She was actually surprised Demetri hadn’t returned. Apparently he was leaving her in charge of Jaime while he caught up with Roose.

She would retrieve her dress, and leave again into one of the washrooms to get changed, so they could return.

 

[peritwinkle]

Tyrion was taken aback by Olenna's bluntness regarding their doubts on Sebaston. He would not have called him a turncoat so easily, but he supposed anything could be said without consequences if one was old enough to come off as wise. Of course, he would not doubt nor deny Olenna's intelligence, yet at the same time, the woman did not know how to cobble about certain subjects, especially those that were as sensitive as his.

"Both Lady Margaery and Caireann were very, very worried," Tyrion admitted. "They both cared for Lady Cybelle... For you, dare I say. At least on my daughter's part." He knew that Caireann had given him a bracelet, as well as to everyone else in the Alliance whom she endeared the most. "We were all, indeed, worried that you would take a wrong path."

That he would abandon them, without considering the consequences. Perhaps, had he been drunk, Tyrion would have done the same, but now that the Alliance relied on him so much, it would be pure suicide. Tywin would never give him a chance. Likely, he would kill Cybelle anyway at the end of the war. Kill them. Genocide was a word in his vocabulary. He should know; after all, the old lion had wiped out almost all of the Reynes.

Frankly, none of them were looking forward to the wedding with Lord Frey's children. He imagined that Sebaston was one of those who dreaded it the most, and he could not begin to imagine what Robb would feel then. He did not believe that Walder would greed him with kindness; he was a vile man, bitter, and he would get his revenge one way or another, whether he joined the war against the Lannisters or not, although three marriages should have been more than enough.

"Then there is no need to write to Casterly about this," Tyrion sighed in relief, then gave Sebaston a smile. "There will be a council soon, as you may know. You should get ready yourself. Rest a little." Tea helped, at least more than wine or any kind of alcohol, in truth. Even he had come to realise that.

He hoped that Sebaston would not come to make the same mistakes that he had.

~***~

"You should have placed a bet on this," Jaime teased her as he removed the dirty shirt. He bunched it up in his hands, then propped it snuggly under his arm. He needed a warm bath and a drink, preferably something to keep him awake for the rest of the evening. As winter approached, the day was getting shorter; there was too much time between then and night, so he would have to endure living at least two hours more.

He would allow Lenore her moment to change, even if he had not cared much about being shirtless around her. Knights were not presentable when they fought or trained. Considering his appearance, he doubted anyone would dare to make any mindless remark.

You did not poke a lion with a stick.

As soon as she returned, he would find his way towards the Rock again, allowing the wind to dry the sweat from his temples and hair. Even from so far away, he could smell the scent of freshly baked meat pie, or perhaps he was only imagining it. Regardless, it was a pretty image that his mind painted. "I assume you are not too embarrassed to dine with a loser," he teased. "Victors often let their wins inebriate their minds."

He had been happy for days after almost winning the spar against Adryan, even if he had eventually lost. Perhaps Lenore thought of herself as better than the Kingslayer after disarming him. And maybe she was. After so much time spent in safety, without a real battle or real opponents provoking him, he was likely as rusty as the swords they were given to spar with.

 

[Lucyfer]

Sebaston was amused a bit with their doubts. He wasn't hurt. He was a turncoat. Stannis would rail against him with that title when he passed, assuming they found each other in whatever hell awaited him after life. Men like him and Stannis didn't go to heaven. No one in this room did. No one in this war. They were all traitors, except Lord Tywin. They turned their backs on their family, their homes, their leaders...damned, all of them.

'Perhaps I should start believing in a faith without a hell.'

Tyrion's comment was unexpected, and he arched a brow. "I don't hide things about the war from Lenore if you are thinking of that." She was still the de facto leader of the alliance. She would know what Tywin wrote. Hiding it would only cause problems if she learned of it. What trust they had would shatter if he hid correspondence from Tywin of all people.

"Really? You hid Ciaran."

"That wasn't related to the war." Though his propaganda had become useful in earning popular support for Lenore. He heard how easily Clegane's keep fell.

Olenna chuckled, "I didn't realize you two were close." Though sometimes it was hard to tell with him. Just as with Lenore.

"Necessary evil. Everyone else is afraid of her," he sighed, though it was true. If not, Adryan would have spoken to her of Caireann. Tybalt. They loved her, but the didn't know how to handle her. Sometimes, he didn't either, or he could have stopped her from going after the Mountain, or the Fern Valley. "but it doesn't matter now. We have a council and weddings...well...not you." Obviously meant Tyrion, in regards to the council. "I won't go to the wedding, but this once if you want to go to the Twins, Tyrion, you may. I'll send my brother-in-law to accompany you."

He needed to stay to defend Lannisport. No one else really could. He was the navy of this alliance.

~***~

'Put a damn shirt on.' Lenore didn't say as much to Jaime but she certainly thought it when her eyes came upon him again. It wasn't fair play at all, he could have kept it on to his room...changed there to be more appropriate for dinner. She fought to keep her eyes off of him, at the Rock instead as they came towards it. 'Your blood is up from the fight, just get some warm tea and relax.'

Jaime continued to tease though. "Haven't I been dining with one for a while now?" A subtle purr was in her voice, play meant to ease the reminder that they only knew each other because Jaime had lost a battle. "I do not mind, though I do trust you're at least going to change before dinner? As much as Lady Casterly may approve...." she let the usual jest trail.

Mostly because said lady was stepping out of Casterly as they came to its entrance, looking annoyed. The irritation faded in sight of them, relief turning to confusion. "Demetri told me he left you to Lenore... apparently he wasn't going to return." Thought Lenore was taking over. "Sorry about that." Damian would have known better.

He wasn't bothered by Jaime's appearance. Lenore was another story. She had left her dress on the dirt, after all, and her hair was still just pulled back simply. The question was in his confused look, but Lenore ignored it. "It's alright, I filled Jaime in on the weddings. We'll miss Bolton's."

"So will Roose." Adryan said, "I'll take it from here until the nightshift guard comes to replace me."

 

[peritwinkle]

Tyrion was not one who enjoyed revelries. The only reason he agreed to attend them was because he did not have to call for wine. Other activities, such as dancing and conversing, did not interest him in the least. Of course, it was a matter of tastes. It was obvious that a deformed imp like him would not ever be the center of attention in a group for a good reason. Many did not care to overlook his appearance and appreciate his wits.

Still, the offer was not denied. "I will consider it," he said, "Although I think I would prefer staying at Casterly Rock with my brother, if that is possible." He would be guarded there as well, so long as Lenore and Sebaston agreed. There was no reason for him to go, or at least less so than for Roose Bolton.

He doubted he would stay with him in Casterly. Someone was needed at Lannisport, and who was better than the leader of a prosperous fleet? "If it is not too much to ask, then I that is what I would prefer. I assure you that I do not have any intentions to stab Lady Reyne in the chest when she sleeps. In spite of my frame, I am not that easy to miss." Not with the way he moved, as he was everything but subtle.

He would wait for an answer, and if he was denied, then he simply would go after Caireann and Robb. There was no reason to stay there, where he, in truth, had nothing to do other than to watch the sea and write letters for that side of his family who did not yet hate him.

Or worse, wait for an answer from Tywin, likely with a maiden's finger attached to the envelope.

~***~

A low chuckle left Jaime's throat at her more or less bitter remark. Indeed, he had been a loser ever since the battle in the Whispering Woods. Not that he had lived a terrible time, at least not after having warmed up to Lenore. It was good that at least she did not deny the offer. "Lady Casterly might be jealous that I would rather dine with you than with her. She thinks that she is my one and only." Oh, and how many times Adryan had been wrong.

Fate had it that they met him right at the entrance, and in spite of his apparent confusion, he did not express his interest to know what had happened to the both of them. Jaime's expression faltered, however, when he said he would be taking over, which meant it would no longer be as easy to get rid of him if he wanted to spend some time with Lenore.

"You may," he said, "yet there is something that Lenore would have wanted to speak to me about. Regarding Caireann," which, by his tone, meant privately. "I will want dinner while we are at it, though, I am quite hungry." His tone remained light, if only to make it look like his intention was not to dine in isolation from the others. Still, he somehow made it clear that he wanted his time with her, without a guard breathing heavily behind him.

He turned his head to Lenore, asking for confirmation. A lie such as that did no harm. Although, if Lenore preferred to join the others and leave Jaime in Adryan's company for the night, then she was free to do so, yet something in her eyes, her demeanor, the redness of her flesh, spoke against it.

 

[Lucyfer]

Sebaston did not think there would be much to consider, until Tyrion expressed his wish to go to Casterly Rock to be with his brother. ‘Ah.’ That made sense, as well, though Casterly was far more dangerous than Lannisport. He would still send Ser Clifton with him, if only because he would need the accompaniment on his way to Casterly Rock.

He chuckled at his comment of killing Lenore. She was a light sleeper, but more, “If you find her sleeping, she may already be dead,” he joked. With how little sleep she got, one had to wonder at times. Though, he expected he would soon be joining her in that department. He needed more coffee. She probably needed more, as well. Tea was not nearly enough.

“I will have to write ahead to Casterly Rock. If Lenore will accept, you may go,” he answered. “Ser Clifton shall still accompany you there. You’re not getting rid of him, I’m afraid,” he said, then pushed away from the wall. The window, “Now, I have letters to write, and rest to take, before this council. Please, leave me to it.”

Olenna rose, accepting the dismissal, but not before she did reach out a hand to touch Sebaston’s arm. “Cybelle is your daughter,” she reminded him, “She will understand.” That would be the part that would tear Olenna to pieces – knowing what her children or grandchildren might think if she had to leave them.

And that may indeed occur, if she was as strong as Sebaston…and it was that last part she was not so sure of. She was not out for revenge or hatred, but for the safety of her family. If she lost them, then what was the point of this? She did not have a greater cause. Not as the West did. “And when we get her back, she will recover. We will do all that we can to see to it.” She gripped his arm, a touch of a wryness, “You’ll have my support, and Margaery’s,” it would take a woman’s touch, of that she was certain, when they got Cybelle back.

She wouldn’t say ‘if’.

If was too well known.

“I will hold you to that, Lady Tyrell.” He said, and he let her leave with her rosy tea, and looked to dismiss Tyrion just the same, so he could write and rest a bit before the council.

~***~

Lenore had nothing to say to oppose Adryan taking over. Jaime was the quick thinker in this case, at least earning them some time at dinner to speak. Lenore didn’t really have anything to say of Caireann, though she could make up something if they were going to be overheard about her pregnancy, she supposed.

Lenore gave her nod when Jaime glanced her way, confirming it, though Adryan didn’t seem fully convinced this once. The words of the late-Tyros still came to mind, and Demetri’s nonchalance about leaving them together, as if it was something they wanted.

Could they not have spoken of Caireann earlier? He had no real reason to argue it, though. No reason to wonder much, and yet he did. The attire spoke of more than conversation. Jaime’s request was strange. “All right,” he still could do nothing. “Lenore, bring him to me when you’re done with him, or I’ll send the guard to his door when his shift comes up,” he said, figuring he could give them the privacy.

As Lenore said before, she could technically fill in as guard, even if she shouldn’t fill in as guard. He wasn’t even sure if she’d replaced her poison dagger yet. He would have to hope so.

“Thank you for understanding, Adryan,” Lenore said, “You can take Jaime to his room, I’ll get us dinner,” making a stop at Jaime’s room for him to get a shirt, to then get dinner, seemed pointless now that they were going to dine in isolation. Adryan and she could just switch when she returned with the dinner.

 

[peritwinkle]

Even Tyrion knew that Lenore Reyne was not a heavy sleeper. The woman suffered, and he would be an idiot to question why. Even he had restless nights when he slept in Casterly Rock; somehow, Tywin managed to reach his mind even then, irking him, in an effort to make him reget his choice. It was likely known that he had left on his own, not at Sebaston Farman's commands. After all, his daughter was in Lannisport, frightened and endangered.

Father or not, he loved her more than he did Tywin.

Before they left, Olenna shared a few more words of encouragement with the man. They were needed, even if nothing could yet be guaranteed. At least they had the hope that she was alive, that she would be brought back underneath the protective wings of her family... Of the father that would have been ready to risk her for the sake of their war.

Sebaston might have been a Farman, but he was as honourable to the one cause that he believed in as any other loyal knight he had met. The man would put to shame those that claimed to serve Cersei out of their love for the name of Lannister. Rather, they were on the hunt for their gold, while no amount could truly buy an old sailor's heart.

Tyrion was the first to step through the door, his mind already clouded, but he forced himself to remain sane. He would seek Caireann and inform her that his mission had not gone badly, that he had managed to accomplish his goals, more or less. At least Sebaston had no intention of leaving, which was more than enough. His mental stability, as cruel as it might sound, was less relevant to them than his position in the war that they, together, fought.

~***~

For a solid moment, Jaime was sure that Adryan would doubt the probity of his hastened words. He looked the part at least, utterly confused both by their appearance and their demeanor. It was not often that Lenore wished to speak to her captive in private, nevertheless in the last month that had passed. She had only grown colder and him, with her.

Yet, when he agreed, he barely contained a sigh of relief within himself. "I hope you will not miss me too much, Lady Casterly," the knight said jokingly to the other, in an effort to lighten the mood. "At least you can rest assured that we will see eachother in the morning," given his shift ended after dinner. One would think after so much time had passed, he should have known the timetable of his personal guards.

There were many things that he had not bothered himself with, and that was one of them. From time to time, he did blame himself for no longer thinking of Adryan; everyone saw him as a guard, and less as Lord of Casterly Rock. Had he been in his place, Jaime would have likely become at least twice as grumpy as the poor knight looked.

He would allow Lenore to leave then, without sharing another glance. Instead, Jaime's eyes remained locked on his feet as he trotted up the stairs of the main entrance and towards the gates. He felt and looked exhausted; at least it was one thing that Adryan could believe. A part of him had missed having a real opponent to fight against, not only a straw dummy, but none had ever come close to the golden-haired bastard. With or without a broken leg, he would have struggled to defeat him either way, and he still did not have the bravery to invite him for another spar.

As soon as he stepped into his chamber, the warm bed, tousled and wrinkled, momentarily seemed far more inviting than a good meal with Lenore, but he forced himself to stay awake until she returned. He could only hope that it would not take long, as she might soon find him fast asleep, snoring soundly in his freshly perfumed duvet.

 

[Lucyfer]

In the peace that followed the departure of Tyrion and Olenna, Sebaston did write, to both Ellaria Sand and to Lenore Reyne. He told them both of what he had received from Tywin, expressing his deepest sympathies to Ellaria who was likely undergoing a similar thing as she thought of her lover, caught. He expressed a hope that they would be able to stand together in solidarity with Dorne.

If they let Tywin get away with this, because it affected them personally, then they were not worthy to lead. ‘If we cannot endure, we cannot ask others to….’ And many people suffered in war. Wives lost husbands. Families lost sons. If the Nobles weren’t willing to lose the same, they were in no position to lead.

He wrote to Lenore of Tyrion’s request, and reassured her of his steadfastness. ‘Though I suspect when this war is over, you and I will not be talking for some days.’ Written almost humorously, if it didn’t contain the bitter note of truth. Robb and the others had wisely let him alone to his silence. He would need it after this war, as well, and he would be most angry with Lenore for dragging him into this.

Yes, he chose it.

But he never would have warred with Tywin otherwise.

When the letters were done, and the tea long gone, Sebaston rose and went to see them mailed to Casterly Rock, before he would get more tea, and something to actually eat. He was starting to at least feel physically better. He would not be better for a while, but he knew how to maintain better than most. He knew what he would have to endure, soon. ‘But your reign ends, Tywin. We’ve lived in fear for too long. No more.’ Lewys may have bowed to him, but Sebaston was not his father.

~***~

Robb and Caireann had composed themselves after enjoying the morning together with a bit of more…rigorous exercise than normal. Fortunately, cold toast with jam was not too bad, and Robb enjoyed it, dressed properly now for the council he was soon to attend. He’d heard nothing of Olenna nor Tyrion about Sebaston, and did not think he should go see him before, but the lack of news was making him wonder a bit.

‘What, do you expect them to come to disturb you?’ Perhaps he did. He wasn’t sure why he did, except that Sebaston’s state influenced many things. ‘It may be good you are hearing nothing.’ That had to mean there was nothing to worry of.

As he finished the last slice of toast on his plate, he looked to Caireann to see if she was finished and prepared to leave, as he rose to his feet, “When you’re ready,” he spoke to her, “We should move on to the council room,” prepare to engage the others to discuss who would stay, and who would remain.

~***~

Lord Adryan sighed as Jaime once again went to the ‘Lady’ joke. He wasn’t sure why, but it did at least relax him a bit. Suggested things hadn’t changed, somehow. ‘My epitaph is going to read Lady Casterly.’ He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, either. It would never be quite as seriously offensive as ‘Queen’ Lorea Lannister…poor Loreon.

So, he led Jaime to his room in peace, letting Lenore depart from them.

Jaime went in peacefully enough, and Adryan shut the door after him, leaned against it, until Lenore would appear. She didn’t take long. Apparently, she went right to the Great Hall, and came back balancing a couple of plates on a tray – potatoes steamed alongside roast beef, and the scent of it was rather tantalizing. Adryan hadn’t gotten a moment to eat yet, checking in with all the guards around Casterly first and then finding out Demetri had abandoned Jaime.

He pushed from the door, though, paused before her with the tray, the food, the cup of wine for Jaime, and likely, tea for herself. “Is everything all right?” He asked. ‘With you. With Caireann.’

“Yes,” Lenore gave a nod, “It is – you know how Jaime can get when the news isn’t quite what he’s wanting.” Best to keep it contained.

Adryan couldn’t argue that. “What, is Caireann having twins?”

Lenore chuckled, but shook her head. “Not so far as I know.” Possible. “Go on now, you look famished.” She encouraged, if only because she didn’t want him asking what was up with Caireann so directly. She didn’t have a good lie for that.

Fortunately, Adryan left without further questions, and Lenore was able to open the door and enter, setting the tray of food down on the nearest table. She shot Jaime a glance, “Are you so sure you want me to stay, Ser?” She couldn’t help but tease, “You look almost as tired as Adryan looked hungry.” Exhaustion had simply become the norm for her, but she wasn’t as tired as normal, in truth. She was able to sleep on the road, and all she’d done was ride back to Casterly, and spar a bit with Jaime.

At least Jaime was doing more than wilting in his room, though. He had reason to be exhausted this time.

 

[peritwinkle]

Droplets of sweat glistened on Caireann's forehead, and although she had dressed herself properly for the council, she was still not in the least presentable. Their active way to start the day had sparked her appetite; in spite of their breakfast having turned cold, she still enjoyed the toasted bread with jam with Robb, while both brushing her hair and scouring the room for a pair of comfortable shoes that would both add an extra touch of gentility that her messy hair would have taken away.

Eventually, when her looks were more or less better than before, she brushed off the crumbles of bread from her skirt and took Robb's arm to leave. "Were you nervous the first time you had to attend a council?" Somehow, she imagined that he had been born with a sword in his hand and a strategic mind, although she knew that was quite impossible.

It was quite the same as Lord Tywin, in truth. She could not even fathom him being younger than she had known him to be. To her, however, politics and war were a whole new game that she was yet to learn. Those few days that she had started to work through were, in truth, only the beginning of something greater. It would take years for her to reach Robb's level in such matters.

Still, Caireann was confident that her judgement was good enough to start with. Either way, she would most likely be there to... well, listen. She was sure it would go rather quickly, either way. Splitting forces was not a hard thing to do, especially when they were not under the pressure of the enemy.

~***~

It took quite the effort for Jaime not to fall asleep until Lenore returned with food. He only heard Adryan's steps fade away through the hallway after an exchange of words that he could not understand. Soon enough, the door was opened, now unguarded, and Lenore stepped inside as expected, holding up a tray of warm food, likely made especially for the scouts that had returned from their long journey. It looked and smelled far better than the usual thick stew.

A chuckle left his lips at her comment of exhaustion. "I have come to enjoy it... What you do to me." He was more implying other things than their spar, but would not follow up with another innuendo. "I am surprised it was so easy to get rid of Adryan. I am sorry for him. A Lord should not have to still serve as a guard for his own chambers."

He presumed that the man did not mind as much, however. After all, if he had, he would have chosen one of his trustworthy comrades to do the job for him. He imagined Adryan did it for the love he had for Lenore if nothing else. He was loyal. Affectionate. Perhaps too much for a knight, but Jaime could not blame him.

His own heart was torn between more than just two souls.

"Take a seat," he offered eventually, as he came to sit on the edge of his bed as well. He still had not thrown on a shirt and was not planning on doing it soon, if only to bother her more. He would lean over to take a plate filled with food, that he would enjoy as he propped his back against the wall. "There is much I want to hear from you. I never knew the details. People talk, but a prisoner cannot expect to know the truth."

A pang of guilt struck him, knowing that was not what she would have wanted to talk about, but for the moment being, he was curious for the truth. Curious to know what she had seen, from a secure source. Then, they could pass to other subjects... Yet he had come to care enough for Sebaston to wonder what was left of his daughter, Cybelle.

 

[Lucyfer]

Was he nervous the first time? Robb nodded, “Terrified,” he answered. He could still remember seeing them all, in that setting, for the first time. He knew them. Lady Mormont, Lord Umber, Lord Bolton – all older and more experienced then him. “I was expected to lead men and women with more battle experience, more war experience, into a war because my father had been taken hostage by the Iron Throne, and expect them to listen to me, just because I was Lord Eddard’s son.”

It had not gone smoothly. They had indeed fussed and argued that first time. Not Lord Bolton, but Lady Mormont and Lord Umber had been among those dissenting voices. They swore to Lord Stark, yes, but they also swore oaths to the crown. Convincing them to war was the difficult part, yet, he had managed it. “It’s gotten easier,” now that he knew the people he was dealing with, “but you can never know the outcome, and you have to be prepared for people surprising you.”

They all had different perspectives on the situation, and the war. Sometimes they were in sync, but not always. It mostly came with the West, or the Reach. They knew different territories, different landscapes, and had different motives, so they would think differently about how to go about it.

With the food done, and Caireann on his arm, he spoke, “Let’s go to it. You do not have to say much if you are intimidated,” he offered, “this is for you to learn, and there is much learned in observation, as well,” to encourage her, “yet you may also speak just…remember, much of it is not personally meant. Everyone here has much to worry about in war.” Ideas could be shot down in a heartbeat, and he was concerned that may worry Caireann.

She may take it personally, when she only did not see things from their perspective. Robb had plenty of things shot down, because he did not consider things from another side.

It was the only way they could discuss though, to throw out ideas, and learn why it would, or wouldn’t, work. To debate.

At least this one should be easier…he hoped.

They would reach the council room, and find Sebaston to be already there. He was a bit surprised to see the man, who almost reminded him of Lenore in that moment with his cup of tea. “Lord Farman, I—,”

“I’m early, I know,” he said, “My apologies, should I leave you for a few moments to set up?”

Robb shook his head, “No,” he said, “There is nothing to set up,” he said, and he tried to force his face and words to be gentle, “Are you…,” asking if he was well was stupid, and Robb sighed, at a loss.

Farman smirked, “I’m still on board,” he said, confirming. “I wish this wedding issue wasn’t in the way of crushing the Baneforts and Marbrands, so do keep that in mind and make your visit short.” He glanced to Caireann, perking an eyebrow. He didn’t speak, or ask – to do so would be rude, nor did he suggest it was inappropriate for her to still be there. It wasn’t. Far from it.

‘Good.’ At least someone may indeed be growing.

~***~

Jaime’s implications weren’t so subtle to her ears any longer, since the comment of her hair, which she’d left as it was. She heard it, but made no response to it. They weren’t taking the bait on either side just then, and Lenore did sit, not on the bed but in a chair, and did pull herself a plate to eat, as well. She was quite hungry, once the adrenaline had settled a bit. “Adryan is a knight at heart,” not a lord, in truth, “he learned to lead from the front, and he continues in that behavior. I hope it will help him when he takes over.”

He did not wish to order others to do something he would not do himself, and he made sure to show that. He led the vanguard, because it was the most dangerous and he had the skill for it. He went with Lymond because, again, it was the most dangerous. He guarded Jaime to show its importance. Everything he did, he did to show the good example that ought to be set, and to show he was still among his men.

Lenore just hoped it would pay off with his people, one day.

He wanted to know what was going on, besides the rumors. Lenore considered, uncertain which bits of information he wanted, and then decided to just do an overview, “As you know, Lord Bolton’s son is marrying Lord Frey’s daughter. So will one of Lady Mormont’s daughters, and Lord Rickon Stark, when he comes of age,” the West wouldn’t be involved. This was a Northern issue. “Clegane’s Keep fell with hardly a fight. We’ve set up forces there to hold it, at least a bit, though I doubt anyone will be coming for it soon.”

Not with Lannisport and Casterly taken.

“Lord Farman sent me a horse to replace Torrent,” she didn’t know if she’d actually told Jaime her horse was dead. She didn’t think so. Well…he may have heard. Now he’d know. “I’m going to see if I like it tomorrow.” Tried to think positively. “No other word yet from Lord Farman on Cybelle, nor word from Tywin,” none that she had heard, anyway. “He mostly informed me that the plan with Braavos was moving ahead.” The Golden Gallery ransacked and shipped overseas to trade for whatever they could get, and settle the debt.

It was not good to continue in that vein, to think of Tywin, and how furious he may be to learn that all of the Lannister history in the Gallery was gone, even if it meant the debt was settled. “I suspect I will be hearing from his soon to settle things for the Frey wedding. Who’s attending, who’s not attending, how many will go, and how many will leave…tomorrow, or the next day.” Better topic. "Is that what you wanted to know, or was there some topic in general that you were curious over?"

 

[peritwinkle]

It was true that a sense of strategy and war had been inflicted upon Robb from a young age. A part of Caireann felt truly sorry for him, that he had been required to feel the pressure of lordship so early on. Still, it had been good on the long run: now, he could protect both himself and his men. He could teach her how to do the same thing, even if in a perfected world, they would have only had to worry about too much jam on their toast.

Yet that world which they lived in was nothing near perfect. It was what they were fighting for, after all: strived to make it better. Still, Caireann was afraid, regardless. 'Those are your first steps,' she tried to tell herself. 'This is how you learn, just like he has... You will one day be as brave as he is now, for himself. For you.'

She knew that even if he did not say it, Robb was worried about her. About what she would say if her considerations were wrong or if her opinions were turned down. All she could do was to endure and try to understand why she was mistaken, if she ever was. At least knowing that the council was not going to be too intense, it was her only solace.

Soon enough, they arrived in the council room, where they found Sebaston, all alone with his own thoughts. Caireann's stomach clenched, expecting him to rain down upon them, yet she was pleasantly surprised with his rather optimistic attitude. "It is good to see you are better, my lord, I was so worried about you..." About Cybelle, and she still was, but she did not dare to mention her then, lest she make his situation worse.

She noted the way he perked his brow, but did not think much of it. 'He is surprised.' Who wouldn't be? Soon enough, Catelyn Stark came inside as well, followed by Willas Tyrell, visibly eaten at by personal thoughts and worries, and she let a similar expression grace her eyes as she saw the girl, but she did not comment, nor at the sight of Sebaston. The young lord appeared rather pleased to see Caireann there, while the Stark lady maintained her poise.

She took her seat calmly, waiting for whoever was left then to arrive, if any.

~***~

Jaime realised that he had not been clear enough in voicing his curiosities, but he did not mind the detailed recap that Lenore offered. Most of the rumours he had heard fit them quite well, although it did not seem like she knew much about Cybelle either, other than the fact that she had been taken away as a prisoner by his father's men. With a bit of luck, the poor girl was still alive; he doubted Tywin would have taken her so, had he intended to execute her at King's Landing.

As he listened to her speak, he dug into his own plate of food, chewing quietly so as to be able to hear her well. When she was done, he shook his head as if to say that she needed naught to say more. "I did not know you had lost Torrent," he admitted with a sigh. He suspected the horse had died, otherwise she would not have accepted another so easily. "I am sorry. I know how much he meant to you."

A good horse, one who had saved her many times, as he had heard. It was as hard a loss as any other.

Leaning back in his bed, he set his half emptied plate aside and breathed out. "I can feel your pain whenever you come in here," he murmured then. "Somehow, you manage to open up to me. It is still a mystery to me why." The question floated in his statement, wondering what there was about him that made her feel so safe. "Is it the fact that you will never see me again after the war is over?" he jested, although only half-jokingly.

She would die, or he would leave. Regardless, her secrets would be safe with him, and none would care to listen either way. It made him feel like he had a purpose whenever she spoke to him. Her falling asleep on her chest would not have been a first; he should have allowed that affection to slip in with Rosalind, with Caireann. The women in his life whom he had not shown his love to until far too late.

 

[Lucyfer]

Others soon entered, and Robb gave them all a word of greeting as they did arrive. Olenna and Lord Umber were among the last, Lord Umber no longer accustomed to these meetings since so many had instead occurred at Casterly, while he remained at Lannisport to make sure the grounds were protected.

Robb took his place behind the desk, and couldn’t help but notice how some had chosen to position themselves in the absence of people like Lenore, Maege, and Roose.

Sebaston leaned where Roose normally would.

Olenna sat where Lenore would have.

And Lord Umber stood where Lady Mormont would have, his imposing presence just as grand as her own, to make it seem as if she’d not left at all. “Thank you all for coming. As you all may be aware by now, Lord Frey has written and agreed to three marriages, two to be hosted immediately. This does mean that our plans to attack the Banefort and the Ashemark have to be put on hold, and I do apologize for that.”

Farman just rolled his eyes. He clearly didn’t think the apology was sincere. “I intend for us to sail out of here in a week. Before then, I will be riding to speak with Lenore about some of the preparations for this, but I know we cannot all leave to have that meeting. I wanted to have this one to get a clear idea of where we all stand on positioning our soldiers, and how many we need to take up to traverse the Riverlands.”

“You’re wanting my ships for this, aren’t you?” Sebaston asked.

“I would appreciate the use of your ships, yes.”

“You’ll have to write ahead to me then when you wish to come back. I won’t be leaving them in a port in the Riverlands.”

“What harm would it do? Tywin has no navy.” Lord Umber stated.

“So Lannisport should appear to have a lesser navy?” He countered. “These are my ships to hold Lannisport with. At most, those who go to the wedding will only be waiting two days for the ships to arrive. It is not a great hardship.”

“I take it you are not intending to go to the wedding, Lord Farman?” Olenna asked.

“No,” he shook his head.

“Perhaps if the security of Lannisport is a concern, the Redwyne fleets could assist,” Olenna offered. “It is true that Tywin does not seem to be striking us over the seas, and so our own fleet has had little to do,” Olenna considered.

~***~

‘I liked Torrent more than most people.’ Yet she did not weep for the gray horse, for like people, he was another tool in the war effort. When one fell, another moved into their place. Tyros, Jaime’s guard, was replaced easily. Adryan, when he was away, was also replaced.

Even she would be replaced in this game.

Before she could thank him for the usual words of sympathy, though, he spoke of her pain and she glanced up from her own plate to see his set aside now. ‘Jaime….’ Every time they tried to discuss, sanely, anything of importance or emotional depth, it threatened to pull into a fight. Even this. Lenore felt the tension of it, the emotions that wound up at the question as if it were a threat.

As if Jaime knowing her was threatening to her mere existence. “Would you be upset if I said that was a part of it?” It certainly was, whenever she used logic to figure out what it was about Jaime Lannister that drew her to open up to him, that drew her to go to him. “It is the worst thing at times, and it is the best thing.”

He was temporary. He did not depend on her strength as her soldiers did, as the Lords did, and when he did need it, she found it. As he found strength for her. “I could give you all the logic I’ve thought into it, but I don’t think you care for how I’ve rationalized the irrational.” She had tried to explain it to herself as if she was explaining to Tybalt. As if it might help her when he confronted her on it, if he ever did again.

“You’re one of a very select group of people who can argue with me and change my mind.” One of two, in truth. Sebaston was the only other one who truly did it effectively. Tybalt tried…but the fact she continued her relationship with Jaime showed how ineffective the humble man so often was. The fact she knew poison, another reason. “You…care about me, more than most. It seems as if you should know me a bit better, sometimes, since you’ve made some of my interests, your own.” Her well-being.

He could not consider them, if he did not know her. Perhaps she still did not show all, but he had noticed she was still opening more to him than she did others in the alliance, tried and true men, but men who cowered in her fury, and men who would do as she said, when it was said. “You also have an annoying habit of being right when it comes to my well-being.” Saved her from drowning. She was working on using his advice to save herself from freezing. A chuckle then, “I trust you’ll take it to your grave that I’ve grown to care for you…far more than I ought to.” It was a constant push and pull between logic and heart. Distance and closeness. She couldn’t find the balance.

 

[peritwinkle]

Caireann felt strange sitting there, surrounded by nobles and men of strategy whose knowledge could never parallel hers. Still, she tried to make herself comfortable across from Robb, not daring to sit where he stook, knowing that his seat was a place of power. She, as a Queen, could not make use of her title to impose authority when hers was not needed. She was only there to listen and learn, grasp the basis of a council, in hopes of being able to hold her own in the future.

Apparently, Robb wished to make use of Sebaston's ships on his way to the Riverlands, and although his request sounded absurd at first, she could understand where he was coming from. Yet, there was a flaw in his planning that she refrained from pointing out until they finished talking between themselves.

"Lord Farman is right," she dared to say then, and felt the eyes of many turn from the two, towards her. "While we cannot pass through the West," due to safety reasons, "you cannot leave Lannisport unguarded, even by one ship, for the sake of a wedding." However, the path to Seagard took no more and no less than three days on calm waters, which meant they would be required to stay in the Riverlands, including the time spent on the road to the Twins, for at least six.

She was glad when Lady Olenna offered Lord Redwyne's ships for that matter, and it was only then that it came to her attention they had not yet joined them in Lannisport. A momentary thrill of excitement went through her, more than happy to learn they had at least a few more ships to aid them, if the enemy planned to attack by sea.

Willas agreed, "I can write to him right away, and he could easily send one away in two days' time. If the weather is in our favour, that is."

Catelyn breathed in and gave Robb a smile. "I suppose Lady Tyrell's offer is the best of all. Lord Farman's ships are valuable to the city's safety. The Riverlands should be safe as they are, so it is no needed to give Lord Frey more than he requires." They might as well just go by themselves, Robb and Caireann, although Catelyn knew that Walder would likely take it as a personal affront. He was vain and full of pride, but he did not need Sebaston Farman to drink his wine.

~***~

Had their relationship resumed to logic, Lenore and Jaime's lips would never have met. He would never had gripped her ardent flesh, enjoyed the taste of her neck and the smell of her hair. That was what had kept him sane through the war, more or less: the insanity of it all. The thought that, wrong as it was to feel that way, he was at least doing something human.

His lips curved into a smile at her first statement, but he remained silent to listen. He felt himself swell with pride knowing then, that she felt safe with him. That she would listen to him, even if it had been obvious so far. It was what he desired, to be desired, and Lenore was not a stranger to the rules of the game that she played. Still, it did not feel as a game to him, if only because even after their separation, they still cared enough for eachother in order not to let it slip into a distant dream.

"I would never tell them," Jaime spoke calmly, shaking his head. "They would think I am mad, either way. 'Who, the Ghost of Castamere? Never.' They would rather think you have poisoned me into insanity than... this." He moved his hand over hers, holding it there if allowed, cupping it safely in his grip. "That, or Adryan would kill me."

He was sure of it, either way. Not even Lenore would be able to stop the man from raging. If he came into their room then, saw him dishevelled and tousled, saw her flushing as she never did, he would not give it a second thought. Too many things had happened between them, obvious things that the Ghost of Castamere would try to deny, to no result.

Jaime propped himself up then, sitting up, and leaned closer to her. "I've missed it, you know," he admitted. "You, this. It's strange. It's like I desire you, but at the same time there's the fear of having my eyes clawed out if I come too close." He was within her reach and even more. If she wished to push him, however, he would not protest it. Cersei had refused before, and he had not cared, but this... This was different. He knew her in a different way, wanted her in a different way.

How could he have ever blamed Caireann for loving her enemy?

 

[Lucyfer]

Eyes did shift to Caireann as she spoke in favor, and Olenna chuckled. It wasn't a huge matter, it only would have been of Willas refused to call on the resources they had for something like a wedding. Fortunately he was not so petty. "Then transportation is settled, and Lord Farman keeps all his precious ships to defend the harbor." Whether or not it was needed was irrelevant. It made things feel more secure. "Now we know His Grace will be leaving is for the wedding, and I suspect so will the queen and Lady Stark with her daughter. Lord Umber?"

"It seems I should stay to serve as Northern representation in Lannisport." He answered, "if some of my men are needed to travel, I can part with'em," he offered.

"And some of us should accompany, as we are taking the Redwyne fleet." She felt she ought to. That was also her family, after all, and she was not a battle strategist. Margaery would simply want to go and it should bother none to let her. Loras and Willas were different matters and she would let them speak for themselves. "Lord Farman, would I be right to presume the West won't be represented at the wedding?"

The Fair Lord managed a smirk, "If so, it would only be the Hetherspoons." He offered. "I highly doubt anyone else would bother with it. No offense intended." They had to hold the fort, and had made it clear what they thought of Lord Frey's wedding games.

"None taken," Robb lied, a bit. It didn't matter. The Hetherspoons were the least offensive, at least. "I imagine Lord Bolton will want to attend, and Lady Mormont. We may need to move more troops to Casterly Rock if they wish to take a good portion of their armies with them. I know we don't know yet, but we should consider that. Their children are the ones getting married."

~***~

Poisoned into insanity would be more believable than the truth between her and Jaime, and it caused her smile to broaden a bit, nearly laughing, but not quite. Adryan would believe though, if only because he saw how one could like Jaime. He saw them as individuals, even if he held a strong dislike for Tyrek. 'Some others, too....' it wasn't Adryan she worried of finding out. Sebaston and Roose were clever enough. At least they remained ignorant.

Sebaston almost seemed on the told tip of it, when he had asked of all Lannisters would be allowed the privilege of changing their name to stay in Westeros, but she now assumed it was only his affection for Tyrion that had him ask.

She set her own plate aside and Jaime took her hands then, the impeding object gone. He had missed it, these moments that became infrequent after her brief imprisonment ended. She had, as well, and more. The smile shifted slightly. "I could," claw his eyes, "I prefer your back, though." A moment's tease, before she withdrew a bit, not physically, but the teasing gleam. "I understand though."

Not of that sort harm, but she feared him, at times. Even as she lifted a hand to tilt his chin as she leaned forward, too. If the relationship was shallow, it'd be easy. It wasn't, though. It was temporary, but that didn't make it shallow. 'And one day I'll have to replace you.' Like Torrent. Like everything and everyone else. "I never quite know where I stand with you." Her hand shifted slightly.

He'd said he hated her, once. Then she was allowed to sleep in his arms. "Sometimes it seems I know you, and then not at all." She ran a finger over his lips, as if testing to make sure he wouldn't bite, as she spoke. "But I still desire you." Even if he was frustrating.

 

[peritwinkle]

Catelyn was not wholly content with bringing Sansa along, if only for the chance that Walder would demand yet another marriage. The fear was there, lurking in her heart, in spite of the promise of safety that Robb would never allow Sansa to marry a a Frey, no matter what. He had refused, and so he would not force it upon the girl. He could have easily given up on his wish to marry Caireann Lannister, but he had not, and now he ought to pay for his mistake.

"Lady Mormont, indeed," Caireann nodded, "but I do not see Lord Bolton looking forward to another feast," despite his son getting married then. He had been one of the first to leave the other feasts, and he had not even bothered to be present at his own King's wedding. He doubted his son's would make any difference.

"I am sure he will," Willas shook his head. "He ought to. Lord Walder would take it as an insult if he does not. It is enough that the West will not be present." At least they had people from the Reach. He still was unsure if he wanted to go all the same, but at the same time, if Loras refused, he would go to make sure that Margaery was safe. Otherwise, he saw no reason not to trust his brother, especially considering the fact that Loras was not the crippled one.

Caireann pursed her lips, but she did not protest. There was still time. They would soon leave for Casterly and settle everything, yet until then, she was glad that they had at least agreed upon the issue of transportation. "Then it is set," she forced a smile. "I am sure we will return quickly. We are not there to linger about," a look to Robb, to make sure that he thought of the same thing.

In spite of them having shared their first kiss at The Twins, it was not a place that inspired love and happiness. Not a place where they could ever feel at home, no matter the hospitality offered. Walder did not want them there, and they did not wish to be there with Walder, for Walder.

~***~

The differences and shifts of tone in Lenore's voice inspired sincerity. It was impossible for Jaime not to believe her words then, that she desired him, whilst at the same time cared for his well being as much as he cared for hers. She was surrounding him with affection, far more than she had before, and he could not for one moment think of anything else that his own passion for her. His desire to feel her, to hold her; that longing, ardent like a flame, that had only faded, but never died.

"And one would have thought you had forgotten this... Me." A tease, although not entirely a jest. Half a war had been placed between them, and they had felt as far away from eachother as two separate worlds. Perhaps it had been his fault, or maybe both were to blame for their ignorance: him, for forgetting, her, for trying to forget.

Her fingers met his flesh, tilting his chin up, and as soon as her lips touched after her speech ended, he closed the distance between them with a fiery kiss. He held his own lips pressed against hers, demanding, but never forcing more than she, as well, wanted. He was testing to waters, and would pull back if his longing had been too hastened for her liking.

Another hand would move up from her waist to her back, then would caress her shoulder up to her own chin. It felt strange touching her again after such a long time, but the sensation was no less intense than before. Jaime found his blood still boiling with desire, even after a small peck, after the promise for more. Even if she were to pull back, he feared it would not fade, and so he held her, almost desperate to know that she would not leave him as he was.

He would pull away only to whisper against her lips, never breaking contact as his hand moved behind her back. "Cold blooded... But your skin is just as warm. And you taste the same," a low chuckle vibrating in his throat then. He was proud of himself, for one reason or another, and that pride was giving him courage to silently beg for more.